


Family Ghosts

by TheWritingSquid



Series: Rebirth [5]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Credo is Dead Sorry, Cute Baby Shit, Family Feels, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Rebirth Spoilers, the big ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23631394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingSquid/pseuds/TheWritingSquid
Summary: Credo's death anniversary has come around, but this time, Nero breaks with tradition and invites his two new family members along: his daughter, still a happy babbling baby, and his father, a stiff, looming presence.--A Rebirthverse fic in which Nero struggles with the renewal of his grief and Credo's continuous absence in his life. With cute baby moments to help the feels.
Relationships: Credo & Nero (Devil May Cry), Nero & Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Series: Rebirth [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629973
Comments: 22
Kudos: 136





	Family Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> This one has pretty much all the spoilers from REBIRTH's last third, so if you didn't want to get spoiled, I'd recommend not reading yet. XD 
> 
> Also I am sorry for all the Credo feels, I am drowning in them all.
> 
> This was written listening on loop to Bonebottom, from the Silksong OST, and if you want to add to the poignant loss, I highly recommend it.

When Vergil first asked Dante about his paperwork for the _Devil May Cry_ , he had fully expected to have his brother point at a mouldy file in the office buried under stacks upon stacks of pizza boxes, and in which he was more likely to find long forgotten magazines than receipts and invoices. Instead, Dante had scribbled Morrisson’s number on a card. The man turned out to be much more than a broker for Dante. He had handled almost every bill and income over the last fifteen years, keeping them safely away from the _Devil May Cry_ , and he had even filed taxes on Dante’s behalf--“for a fee, of course”. It was extremely basic accounting, but it was a relief to know the business officially existed somewhere, and that Vergil would not suddenly need to account for fifteen years of Dante’s laissez-faire.

Morrisson had mailed him the last three years so he could peruse them while in Fortuna. Vergil still had a handful of classes to complete, but he’d grown impatient with it all. He wanted to start, and if studying what they had could help that itch or get him ahead, he would gladly do so. 

By all accounts, it was not the most thrilling work, but Vergil had found increasing solace in actively boring endeavours. He had not yet parsed through his mixed feelings about it--he did not know if he wanted to--but he found that he didn’t _miss_ the violence. He enjoyed the challenges and competitions inherent to sparring with Nero and Dante as well as the quiet peace of mind that filled him when he wielded the Yamato and called upon its powers, but the thrill of an efficient and perfect kill had lost some of its appeal. Not that he detested it, far from it, but if he was honest… the joy he took from demon hunts with his family had far less to do with the satisfying sensation of the Yamato’s sharp edge slicing through flesh, and far more with Nero’s barking laughter as he grabbed two minor demons and smashed their skulls together.

Besides, Vergil had the ultimate counter to boredom with him. Madeleine sat on his lap, tiny hands reaching for everything she could grab, her clumsy fingers eager to bring pens and stress balls directly into her mouth. She had her own toys well within reach, but she knew those all too well and the plastic turtle had found its way to the ground more often than Vergil cared to count. She wanted to drool on whatever _he_ was holding, and he was glad he’d thought to bring her make-believe tea cup so she could gnaw on that whenever he sipped from his. Her cheeks were still red, her urges to suckle worse than normal, and her energy levels down compared to most weeks; they all knew she had another tiny tooth coming, a fact for which Kyrie and Nero had paid with their sleep. They both napped curled up together in their bed now. Vergil was more than happy to keep Madeleine quiet and entertained while they rested.

This, of course, meant that at times she would wiggle in his arms, cooing and pulling on his sleeves until he relented and gave her the attention she clamoured for. Vergil picked her up, allowing her to stand on his lap. Madeleine had two very solid legs already and as long as she had something to hold onto, she could stand for a surprising amount of time. She tilted her head up and cooed at the sight of him, a soft sound that had every knot of stress inside of him unravel. He gently pushed aside the long white hair that half-covered her brown eyes, musing about the speed at which her plentiful hair grew. It’d blind her completely long before they cut it, if this kept up. Madeleine giggled as he touched her and stretched her arm up, fingers grasping midair.

“Oh, you want to touch some hair too, don’t you, little lady?”

Madeleine loved hair. Unfortunately for all of them, she was also quite the yanker. They had all accepted their fates in different ways. Kyrie, who handled her a lot, had mastered new levels of tight buns. Nero mocked her for struggling to reach his short hair and had given Julio the same cut. Vergil… Vergil had not touched a hair on his head in the last months, letting it grow longer and allowing the occasional bang to escape his wide sweeps back and hang where Madeleine could easily grab. A painful sacrifice, but one well worth the numerous gleeful screams she let out when she managed a fistful yank.

Vergil lifted her now, and while Madeleine hiccuped a happy “Ah!” and grabbed both his bang _and_ the root of his hair on the other side, he used her proximity to land a kiss on her cheek. Then she pulled, hard and fast, and it was all he could do to hold his head steady and avoid smacking his skull into her own, much smaller head. She laughed, dragging his hair down, and her legs kicked at Vergil until he settled her back down. Madeleine innocently put her hand back in her mouth, staring up at him as if some of his hair wasn’t still clinging to her other hand, ripped away. Vergil blew air up through his bangs. She giggled. He raised his eyebrows, then blew in her face, and this time he was rewarded with a gleeful scream while she squinted. 

The problem with Madeleine was that once she started laughing this way, Vergil’s legendary willpower and stubbornness melted away like snow under a hot sun. How could he focus on work when simply lifting Madeleine up and down would provoke the most joyful sounds out of her? Surely he needed to fill up on them now, considering how quiet she had been today? No, truly, surrendering to her charms was the only way forward.

As Vergil fully set aside his work to play with Madeleine, he could not help but think about the last time he’d tickled her as much. He had been sitting at the dining table with Nero, who kept her standing while he pretended his hand was a spider. He made scuttling sounds as he moved it across the table, only to make the hand “jump” on Madeleine and then dig his fingers into her soft belly, drawing out excited giggles while she flung her arms everywhere. Before long, she laughed long before he even touched her, reacting to the approaching hand more than to the tickles herself. Yet for all that _Madeleine_ had grinned and screamed and played, Nero had seemed completely elsewhere, a smile barely touching his lips.

It had been like this several times over the course of the last week--too often, Vergil thought, for it to be simple exhaustion. Nero hadn’t approached him about any disconnect to his body for a long time--two or three months, at least, if not more. It didn’t mean he no longer experienced the scratching sensation of not belonging in his own flesh, but when that culminated, Nero grew stiff and impatient, snapping more easily and leaving the household for long, stomping walks. This was different, and Vergil had yet to determine if he should worry about it, or act upon his observations. In many ways, he did not yet know his son that well. 

Kyrie, however… Kyrie read him like an open book and had been by his side longer than anyone else. If there was anything he should know, she would tell him.

When evening came, Vergil volunteered to help Kyrie with Madeleine’s bath. They always closed the door to the small room in order to keep the heat inside and Madeleine loved to splash around and laugh, so it’d make for a good opportunity for a quiet, private conversation. He leaned against the door, uncertain how to start, as Kyrie placed an excited little lady down in the warm water.

“There is no need to beat around the bush, Mr. Vergil,” she said. “Nero never does, and I am quite used to directness.”

Vergil startled. He would never grow used to the ease with which Kyrie read his silences. What had even given away that he wished to speak with her? He stared at her back for a few seconds then sighed.

“Nero has been… quiet and distant.”

She slowed her movements, her fingers lingering on Madeleine’s back as she looked over her shoulder. Brown eyes briefly studied him, then she nodded. “So you noticed.”

Vergil pressed his lips together, stomping down on his wounded pride. He wished he could say _of course he had_ , but on most days he remained shockingly oblivious to the subtle clues of others’ moods. Perhaps it _was_ a wonder he had noticed at all.

“This time of the year is always difficult for us.” She returned her attention to Madeleine, gently cleaning her small, strangely muscled arms. “You may have heard that the city prepares to commemorate those it lost to demons several years ago, and to mark its release from the Order’s rule of law. To many, the latter has grown into a change to celebrate and the day became one of celebration. To us, however…” Kyrie trailed off, dipped her soft baby cloth in the bath water, then gently ran wet fingers over Madeleine’s still-dry hair. Her daughter cooed and looked up with a smile, and that seemed to give her the courage to finish the thought. “To us, however, it will always mark the day Credo left us.”

Ah.

Vergil did not move from his position at the door, the truth a web closing around him. Credo was not often mentioned in the household, and almost always only by Kyrie, in passing. In many ways, he felt like a ghost, always present but never acknowledged, the cherished memories too closely attached to grief for them to be aired yet. Vergil wouldn’t know how to approach Nero about this, nor did he want to. It felt viciously private in ways he could not fully explain.

Vergil searched for proper words, something to signal he understood the significance of this day to them. He fought with generic formulations, frustrated that even such a simple task of sympathy seemed beyond him, and what few words he’d managed to put together scattered as Kyrie drew in a shaky breath. The strange sound caught Madeleine’s attention, and she turned wide eyes to her mother. Madeleine stared up for a long, heavy second, then splashed both hands in the water with angry babbling that sounded suspiciously like “ma-ma”. Kyrie laughed, a broken and quiet chuckle that acted as a vice tightening around Vergil’s lungs.

“Yes, sweetheart,” she said, running her finger along the bridge of Madeleine’s nose and to its round tip. “He would have loved you, too.”

Vergil squeezed his eyes shut. What little he knew of Credo told him the man had been there for Nero when he, instead, had vanished. It was hard not to think Kyrie’s brother should be the one in the room with her, that he deserved it a hundred times more than Vergil. That was, perhaps, unfair to himself and all he had sought to rebuild since his return, but he could not help feel grossly out of place. His chest aching, Vergil slipped out of the bathroom and left Kyrie and Madeleine alone.

###

Vergil had thought this would be the end of it, that the heaviness of Credo’s passing would linger in the house, its ghost dimming the laughter and warmth that so often filled it, until time reclaimed its due and Nero moved on to live another year, that particular pain kept close to his heart once more. Instead, Nero sought him out around noon the following day, as he rested outside with the audiobook of a science-fiction serial as his sole company. He’d used to enjoy all sorts of grand tales, but having a voice narrating them to him… it had a strange quality to it, as if someone had cared enough about him to stop and tell him the story.

“Vergil.” 

Nero’s voice had covered the narrator’s, firm and quiet all at once, and Vergil’s eyes snapped open. Nero stood by the backdoor, Madeleine in the crook of his arm, her little jeans jacket and tiny shoes for the outside already on. Vergil stopped the book and wordlessly gestured for him to go on.

“You free?”

He’d tried to sound casual, but the thickness in his voice betrayed him. Vergil tilted his head. “Do you need my assistance, Nero?”

“Assistance?” he repeated, nose scrunching up as if the word itself tasted off on his tongue. “Nah, I just… Well…” He readjusted Madeleine in his arms, and she responded by reaching for his coat’s hoodie and pulling it down hard. A slight smile flickered across Nero’s expression, then he freed the hoodie and dug into his pockets for a toy. The plastic pizza had little bumps through it, making it perfect for teething. “Today’s kinda special and I… I’d like you to come with us. Meet someone.”

He unfolded from the ground, his heart hammering. It was not hard to guess who Nero wanted him to ‘meet’, and although the awkwardness from the bathroom yesterday remained seared into Vergil’s mind, he did not see how he could refuse, nor did he have any real desire to.

“I would be honoured,” he said.

That got Nero to frown. “So you know, huh?”

He tilted his head in assent. “Is Kyrie also coming?”

“No. We… we always do this alone. She goes at night, when the stars shine and no one is left to hear her sing.”

Pain threaded his voice, yet under it, Vergil heard the deep love and admiration Nero had for Kyrie. Perhaps one day Vergil would stop marvelling at how clearly Nero’s feelings could be read through his voice and face alone, how unguarded he often allowed himself to be. Certainly not now, however--not as he was invited to what must have been a very private space for grief over the last few years, if even Kyrie was not present.

Vergil crossed the backyard, stopping by Nero’s side. He had no idea what to tell him, if anything at all. His hand briefly hovered near Nero’s shoulder, only to fall upon Madeleine instead, caressing her soft hair. It was so much easier to touch her than Nero. “Whenever you’re ready, son.”

###

Nero stared at the white marble with Credo’s name on it, his mind heavy. They had put a tombstone for him alongside those of other knights who had died defending Fortuna that day, but unlike most others, there was no body under his feet. Dante had been clear about that, once Nero had ripped the story out of him. Nothing to bury. Only golden light. In a way, that was almost better. It felt like Credo actually hung in the air around him when Nero came to speak to him.

“Sorry I skipped a year,” he said. “It’s been… eventful.”

Normally, Nero rattled whatever was around his brain, pouring it all out in one go before he vanished for another year, Credo’s name cradled close to his heart but rarely crossing his lips. He had listeners today, however: the warm princess in his arms who’d relentlessly reached for the flowers’ stem until Nero had allowed her to hold them, even at the risk of Mads shoving the pale creme roses in her mouth, and the looming figure of his father, silent and stiff a step behind. Probably terrified of saying the wrong thing. 

And suddenly, so was Nero.

He couldn’t tell Credo about the last two years while Vergil stood there, listening, and he found that he had no idea how to voice how much had changed since he had last set foot here. The truth had too many layers for words, and he was shit with them anyway. Nothing could explain the mix of prickling pain and deep warmth Vergil’s arrival into his life had brought, nor the soft love and constant worrying Madeleine added to his routines. Nero crouched down, his throat tight.

“I dunno. It’s startin’ to feel like you’re the only thing missing from my life now.” His voice cracked at the end, and he swallowed the heavy load of feelings that had hampered it so. Nero breathed in deeply and set Madeleine’s feet on the ground. As if Credo could feel them through the earth, even knowing there was nothing under Nero, that he was long gone from this land. “This is your niece, Madeleine.”

She slapped the flowers in his face and he couldn’t help but laugh, even though he only really wanted to cry. It wasn’t fair, that Credo wasn’t there with him, that Nero couldn’t save him. Why did _he_ have to stay dead when so many had been given a second chance? Vergil had rebuilt a crumbling frame, split himself and fucked the entire world, then fused back into a solid body. Nero had morphed his own out of the Black Basin. Even fucking Sparda was alive, after a fashion. But Credo, who’s only mistake had been to believe the lies Sanctus and the Order had fed him too hard and for too long--

Nero’s grip tightened over Madeleine and he brought her close, allowing himself to fall on his ass in the dirt. Tears rolled down his cheeks and he wiped them away, angry that they’d come at all. He’d thought he was mainly over this, that it would feel joyful, to introduce Madeleine to Credo, but after the last year… the injustice of his loss only seared harder and brighter now.

“Mads’ too young for the full thing now, but one day we will feed her the glory of your midnight crepes. I know she’ll love them. She’d have loved your beard, too. Yanking stuff’s her favourite game these days.” She was, in fact, trying to grab his ear to do just that. Nero gently caught her hand and held it, so tiny within his palm. “I’m gonna pretend you’ve heard her laugh and loved it, that you got to feel her body slacken into a weighty lil’ bag of heat as she falls asleep, that you heard the way Kyrie sings to her, like she’s in front of the most grandiose, most precious audience ever.”

Madeleine cooed at that, as if she’d understood exactly what he’d said, and she pushed the pale roses into his face. He sniffed and smiled despite himself. The tears had dried for now, but he’d be waiting for Kyrie’s return tonight, and it was not rare for them to quietly return once they were together, their respective mourning finished. Nero forced a deep breath in, then glanced back. Vergil hadn’t moved. He could have been a statue, if not for the soft worry in his blue eyes. With a pained smile, Nero returned his attention to the engraved letters on the tomb.

“I found a dad, too, but he gets me into as much trouble as he keeps me from, so I ain’t sure how reassuring that is for you. Still. The two of you are both stiff fuckers. You’d get along.”

He laughed, then, imagining them sharing their thoughts on the benefits of discipline, then he shook his head and got his feet under him, lifting Madeleine up with him. Normally he would stay long hours here, waiting for the sun to dip below the horizon, but Mads needed her beauty rest and the cemetary was a long walk from home. Gently, he tapped her hand still clutching the roses, signalling for her to drop them. Mads let out a screamish laugh but held on tight.

“Baby,” Nero said softly, “you can let them go.”

Miss Madeleine, First of the Name, instead slapped them in his face again. To add insult to injury, her grandfather couldn’t hold back his soft laugh, so she of course did it again. He blocked it with his palm this time, then countered with a tickle, whispering to Mads how she was being a little demon right now, as if he didn’t love her more for it. Once her fit of laughter dimmed down, he kissed the top of her head and gently pried the rose stems out of her hands. She protested, reaching for them with an angry baby cry as he dropped the pale flowers over the grave. Nero pulled her closer.

“It’s over, Mads. We gotta get home before you fully transform into a scream beast.”

The last week had been difficult enough, he did not want to miss her nap hour. Nero brushed her hair aside with his fingers and cast one last look at the grave.

“See ya, Credo. We’ll be back next year.”

He tore himself away, then, knowing how strong the pull of this grave could be, how often he had lingered here with nothing but his guilt and self-doubts, the deep seated certainty that he was to blame, that if he had been powerful enough… 

Nero forced the thought away, locking it behind everything he had accomplished and learned over the last two years. He had not killed Credo; the Order had. Sanctus had. Nero had saved Kyrie and Fortuna, had climbed the Qliphoth and put an end to his family’s destructive and bloody feud, and he’d not only helped Dante and Vergil destroy Mundus, but he’d reestablished Sparda as the Guardian of the Black Basin. He was _enough_ , and Credo’s grave would no longer be a place to lament the failures of his past, but one to be thankful of the blessings in his future.

###

Vergil was not sure why Nero had asked him along. He had done nothing but stand a few feet behind, one hand on the stroller, too awkward to offer words of comfort or even a supportive touch. When Nero had cried, he had looked away, jaw clenched hard, his feet rooted to the ground despite a deep urge to rush to his side and hold him. He couldn’t move. Even though Nero had invited him here, this felt too private to interrupt.

He was glad Madeleine had no such compulsions. Babies had an undeniable advantage over him when it came to social situations: they could blunder all they wanted and no one would hold it against them. Vergil left it in her good care to comfort Nero for the time being. He said nothing as Nero spoke softly to his girl, or as they brought her back to the stroller and strapped her in comfortably. Neither of them shared a word for a long time, but as the silence stretched on, it became less grating and more peaceful. Perhaps, Vergil reflected, the background of Madeleine's happy babbling helped dampen the tension. Still, he was glad when Nero ventured his name.

"Vergil…"

Sometimes Vergil wondered what made Nero alternate between 'Vergil' and 'Dad'--why he preferred the distance in certain cases but not others. They had been on friendlier terms for a bit more than a year now, and yet the latter still sent surprised warmth coursing through him. He had never thought of himself as _dad_ , and in many ways, Nero sticking to his name remained easier to handle. He inclined his head with a small grunt, indicating Nero could go on.

"When humans absorb demon energy to get more power… can it… make them demons, ya think?"

Vergil stiffened--thought of all he had done to acquire more power and rid himself of his humanity, thought of Arkham, sacrificing his wife for a demon's strength… thought of all the ways everything had gone wrong. "No. It makes them foolish."

Nero snorted, only to press on right after. "What if it lets them transform? Gets them demon forms like us? Can that make their souls more… demonic?"

Their souls? Now that was oddly more specific. Vergil stopped and set a hand on the stroller, halting both it and Nero. Something _else_ was going on in his son's mind, and it wasn't like him to beat around the bush.

"Why don't you ask me what you really want to?"

Nero's cheeks flushed--caught red-handed, Vergil thought--but he didn't give in. He glared at Vergil, huffed, and started off again, pushing his stroller with determined energy. "Never mind. Was just a dumb thought."

Vergil doubted that was true, not on this particular day. He fell into step silently, debating whether he should call out Nero on his obvious lie or allow him this space. He wished Kyrie was here to help; she always knew when to push and when to step back. 

In the end, his hesitation lasted long enough for Nero to change his mind about whether or not he wanted to voice his concerns.

“It’s just--” He started, then stopped, freezing mid step and closing his eyes. The pause didn’t last long, and then Nero walked to the front of the stroller, to release Madeleine as he spoke. “The Order, they had a thing called the Ascension ceremony. Used demon power to grant themselves more strength and a new form. Credo took it… he-he looked like an angel. And I just thought maybe… maybe that tainted his soul somehow, and maybe he ain’t got a body cause he went to the Basin, and if he’s in there--”

“Ah.”

The sound escaped Vergil before he could think better of it. Nero glared at him, straightening back up with his daughter in his arms, fingers tight around her for comfort. He waited for Vergil’s thoughts and the glimmer of hope in his eyes burned like acid at the bottom of Vergil’s stomach. He wished he could believe that, too, and yet…

Vergil shook his head, and Nero’s shoulders slumped.

“Knew it was dumb,” he muttered, before bringing Madeleine closer and setting his lips on her soft white hair.

“I’m sorry, Nero.”

He doubted rituals changed people’s souls in such a manner. They affected bodies and mind, but the soul… that was the essence of who they were, and it endured in ways neither demons nor humans understood.

“S’okay.” The thickness in his voice sounded anything _but_ okay. He focused his attention on Madeleine, playing with her minuscule fingers as if they were the most beautiful thing in the world. “He’s been dead for years. I know that. I just--I just miss him so fucking much.”

Vergil glided closer. He had no idea how to comfort Nero, had never truly learned to handle his own grief. Memories from Eva had been ripped from him, and in some ways he wondered if it made it easier to live with her absence. He did not wake to the imagined sound of her voice the way he’d so often woken up convinced Dante was curled against him, as they would do when either got nightmares. Slowly, he touched Nero’s shoulder.

“If you wish to tell me more about him…”

Vergil let that door open as they started off again, turning down on their street. Madeleine had grown tired and leaned against her father, arms thrown around his neck for extra support. Every now and then, she filled the silence with a coo.

Nero didn’t take Vergil up on his offer immediately, but that night Kyrie and him lit a set of candles by the table and quietly started sharing. For the first time since he’d stepped into the Fortuna household, the topic turned away from Credo’s death and to his life. He heard of the strict brother who would desperately patrol the door outside their shared room to keep them from whispering to one another late into the night, of the numerous times he’d been about to leave with his Order outfit in perfect shape but his sword forgotten by the door, of his countless kitchen mishaps and the burned meals that had filled the house with smoke. They painted a man with strict rules and a good heart, determined to take care of two younger siblings despite their parents death, easily overwhelmed and overworked by responsibilities beyond his age but too stubborn to let the world stop him from making the best of it. 

Two stiff fuckers, Nero had said, but Vergil knew that in Credo’s circumstances, he wouldn’t have half of the man’s flexibility and endurance. They were similar, true, but he had snapped when Credo had bent, enduring for the sake of his sister and his little brother, trusting in the Order and his faith that they could make it through.

 _He_ hadn’t, but as Vergil watched Nero and Kyrie dot on Madeleine while starting yet another anecdote about Credo’s life, a quiet happiness shining through them despite the day’s sad significance, it was hard not to believe the loving brother described would still adore the result of his sacrifices.


End file.
